Styx and Stones
by buttersideupper
Summary: Maia has been thrust unexpectedly into a world of monsters and myth. What happens when her kid brother runs away and the only person left to help her is a boy who attracts disaster? Will be updated sporadically.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: So…okay. The library is harassing me for this book that I am positive I turned in. If I were Rick Riordan, would the library be harassing me? I think not. I don't own anything else you recognize, either._

**.:Styx and Stones:.**

**Chapter One**

It was just another one of those sleepy mornings. The kind that pass by in a blur—a string of moments with no real definition between each.

Not that I was surprised. For the few months I'd worked at Lucille's, I'd learned that the mall was mostly empty in the mornings, even on Saturdays. Summer hadn't changed anything. No one wanted to walk around an outdoor mall in the hot, sticky weather. There wasn't much to keep me busy except talking to Hannah, who was supposed to be manning the store and being friendly. But somehow, she always ended up chatting with the guys selling ice cream next door. And I really didn't think it had anything to do with their frozen treats.

I clicked a sparkly purple pen I'd found lying on the ground a few days ago, leaning over the counter next to the cash register. My cheerfulness was fake as I greeted and said goodbye to the few who came and left. Blowing my hair off my eyes, I waited for someone who needed my assistance.

Three girls had been standing around a display of earrings near the front of the store for ten minutes, and I watched while one of the girls snapped her gum and waved her hands animatedly. Finally, the smallest of the girls walked to the counter, her flip-flops smacking at her heels, and tossed a scarf and two pairs of earrings towards me.

"Hi," I told her brightly. "Is this all for you today?"

"Yes."

Of course it was. It always was.

I launched into my usual spiel consisting of bargains and promotions. "Would you like to donate a dollar to Mercy Hospital?" I finished. She shook her head impatiently.

"Your total is $37.79."

I waited until the girls were a safe distance away from the exit before grabbing my lunch from under the counter.

"Hannah," I called when I rounded the corner. She was leaning on the doorframe of the ice cream store, batting her lashes at the boy she was talking to. "I'm taking my break now."

"Maia! Hi! Oh…right."

She stood up straighter and smoothed her hair. It was long and blond. Everything about Hannah was long, it seemed. Her hair, her legs, her fingers—she looked like she should have been a piano-playing model, not a soon-to-be college freshman catering to spoiled tween girls while they shopped. "I'll see you later," she called to the guy behind her and waggled her fingers in farewell.

I made my way down the sidewalk towards the red bench where I usually sat to eat my lunches. A boy with dark, spiky hair was sitting at one end. As usual, a sandwich was halfway raised to his mouth.

I unwrapped my own turkey sandwich, taking small bites and sipping from the water bottle I balanced on my knee. I completely missed my mouth, water dribbling down my chin and into my lap. I stole a sideways glance to see if the person sitting next to me noticed. He didn't.

That was the silent agreement between us. He sat at one end of the bench, and I sat at the other. There was almost two feet of space between us. Enough that no one would think we were together and that another person could sit down if they wanted to.

Like always, he was minding his own business, clutching a bottled soda in one of his hands. When he turned his head as if he'd felt me studying him, I looked away quickly, staring at my sandwich like it was interesting.

A few minutes later, the bench groaned, and he was up and on his way.

This was the pattern I'd fallen into since summer had started a few weeks ago. I woke up and went to work, which wasn't exciting, per se, but I got paid, right? I ate lunch around noon with The Boy on the Red Bench. Normally, I'd take the bus home, but my dad had gone away for the week, so I was using his car. I watched TV and ate dinner and went to sleep. Repeat.

I'd sulk around the apartment, eating ice cream out of the carton and watching MTV with my younger brother, much to his dismay. If he whined long enough, I chucked the remote at his head. Other days, we'd walk down the street to the gas station and blow our money on junk food and soda. I'd drag him along with me to bookstores and the library, where he'd effectively drive the employees and librarians crazy. We were just…lonely. Even when Dad wasn't out of town, he worked late and left early.

One thing was constant: no matter what I did, my days were, more or less, exactly the same.

And as I was about to find out, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The afternoon sped by in a perfectly normal fashion. Nothing was too exiting or dull. It was just a mesh of minutes and hours and _things_, all blended together in a big pot of boring.

"I _hate_ it here," said my little brother, Leo, in his whiny, nasally voice. He, also, was a constant—never ceasing to annoy me.

"Oh, shut up. You'll survive."

We turned back to the television, watching men in camouflage shoot hefty artillery at each other's airplanes.

A few minutes later: "Let's go to the mall."

"No! I spend all day at the mall. That's the last thing I want to do."

Within the next hour, Leo had bothered me into letting him see a movie with a friend of his. It was like a game to him—See How Long We Can Bother Maia Until She Cracks. I'd _insisted _he wasn't allowed to go since our father wasn't home, but then he threatened to call and complain to Dad. I finally gave in.

So, somehow, I was walking through the doors of the movie theater at nine forty-five.

The movie should have been done fifteen minutes prior (and I'd been waiting very _patiently_ in the car up until this point), but there was no sign of Leo. I sat on a chair in front of the ticket window, _hoping_ the movie had started late or there was a long line to the bathroom or something. I paced a little. I searched the tiny groups of pre-teens for a dark head of hair or the Dodgers hat he always turned backwards on his head. First seconds, then minutes ticked by…still no little brother.

And that's when everything started to fall apart.

When your life is about to suddenly become a chaotic mess, you usually look for the obvious signs—getting straight F's on your report card, seeing an ominous storm looming in the distance, and even watching a biplane headed straight for your barn. Normal things—or at least things with an explanation. What you _don't_ think to look for is two twelve-year-old boys being chased by a man with a bright orange Mohawk, a green trench coat, and snakeskin boots.

I almost didn't see them.

I had been eyeing what I thought might be a familiar tuft of brown hair, sticking up from between two girls that looked a year or so older than I was. Then I noticed one of the girls nudge the other, whispering and motioning to the bathrooms. The other girl bit her lip, looking concerned. I glanced over, and there they were. Two dark-haired boys backed tight against a wall, the man with the orange Mohawk stepping towards them.

Leo had his eyes squeezed shut, but the boy next to him had his eyebrows knit together, never seeming to meet the man's eyes. He put a hand to his belt and came back with a long knife. I thought about moving. I had an idea of where this was going, but it was as if my legs were made of lead.

The boy lunged forward and the blade struck home, dead in the center of the man's chest.

An odd sort of feeling came over me. I didn't feel like I'd just witnessed the murder of a funny-looking man by one of my brother's friends. It was as if a veil had been lifted off my face or foggy lenses had been peeled off of my eyes.

In front of me wasn't a man. There was still my brother and the other kid, but no man. In his place was the body of a snake, green and scaly; perched on top of the body was the crested head of a cock. Feathered wings stuck out its sides.

A sharp, slightly curved beak snapped at the small boy. He let go of the knife, jumping backwards. The monster swayed like a charmed cobra and toppled to the ground before him. Smoke began to rise off the body of the bird-snake as it slowly started to dissipate into the air. The knife fell to the carpet with a thud and all traces of the corpse were gone.

Leo finally opened his eyes; they were wide with fear and excitement. The boy with the knife gave a tug on Leo's arm and started in my direction.

I opened my mouth—maybe to say something, maybe to scream. But I didn't move at all; I was frozen to the ground I stood on.

It took the shove of someone walking behind me to shake me out of my daze. "Watch it!" a man barked, his ample waist throwing me to the side. I muttered an apology and looked around. People were pushing past each other and going on with their lives, rushing into theaters and spilling popcorn everywhere.

The two boys angled away from me towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, not even noticing me staring at them. I finally moved, making a beeline towards them, breaking into a sprint as they stepped inside the room. The door swung shut behind them.

"HEY!" I was screaming and knocking people out of the way with my elbows.

I fumbled clumsily with the door knob for a moment before it opened.

"Miss!" Someone was yelling behind me. "You aren't allowed in there. Employee's _only_."

"But two—" I cut myself off, taking a good look inside the room. No people were to be found. It was just a supply closet with stacks of boxes and various cleaners.

"I suggest you leave now."

"But—"

The man who'd caught up to me gave me a dark, warning look.

"Okay, _okay_. I'm going. Don't _touch_ me!" I told him and shrugged his hand off my shoulder. I shook my head in disbelief as I strode to the exit. My eyes burned and I put my hands over my face. _Don't you dare cry_, I told myself again and again.

I pulled my car door shut, still rattled from my experience, and closed my eyes.

Hoping it was all a dream.

* * *

**A/N: Invisa-cookies if you know what the monster is. (If not, that's okay, I might have butchered it a little.) I've always wanted to use it in a fic. Even if its appearance was brief. **

**Feel free to ask questions. I'll answer as many as I can and make up excuses for the rest!**


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

There are certain dreams that no matter how hard you try, you can never remember the details. And then there are times where you have a sudden Aha! moment, and the dream is bursting from some part of your brain. You dismiss it quickly. Soon your vivid dream starts to diminish, bit by bit. This…was _nothing_ like that. What had happened at the movie theater had been at the forefront of my mind the moment I woke up.

The thoughts were still there as I pulled back the empty sheets of Leo's bed, as I sat at a notably empty breakfast table—still just as clear, like I was watching a movie.

It seemed the more I tried to convince myself it had been a dream, the less I believed it. Maybe I was _still_ dreaming, but I didn't think so. The world seemed so tangible and _real_. Maybe I was just hallucinating. Either way, I had to stop this and do _something_. It was going to drive me crazy.

So I picked up my cell phone and dialed my brother's number.

"_Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system…"_

Redial.

_Beep. Beep. Beeeeep._

Redial.

"Hello?"

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Leo?"

"Um…no. This is Tom. You must have the wrong number."

He hung up and I pushed the numbers slowly and pressed send.

"Still Tom," the voice at the other end of the line told me.

I dialed the number again for good measure.

"Hi! It's Mina! Leave a message and I'll call you back!"

"_The number you have called is no longer in use..."_

_Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeep._

During the following fifteen minutes I'd managed to call Tom, Mina, Peter, Haley, and dozens of machines and busy signals—none of which had ever seen from or heard of any Leo's. I threw the phone at the couch and landed next to it on the cushion.

I spent the next few days stumbling around the apartment with a carton of orange juice under my arm. I guessed that this was what the depressed alcoholics felt like—walking around with bottles of wine and cans of beer and icky hangovers, not even bothering to call in sick to work. Except that all I could get my hands on was juice, we were one in the same.

I took another swig of my beverage and stared at the telephone sitting on the counter for the umpteenth time, debating on calling the police. Thinking better of it though, I paced some more. What kind of person calls the police _days_ after their kid brother runs away? Especially since we didn't have a parent at home. I had a feeling that in particular wouldn't go over well with the cops.

The wall felt cold on my back as I slid to the wooden floor. I tucked the orange juice into my side and leaned my head against couch. The sun was setting by the time I woke up.

My face was squished into the little corner the loveseat and the wall made and my knee banged against the side-table as I shook myself conscious. Something was vibrating against my arm. I felt my muscles tighten as I checked the caller I.D.

Dad.

"Hello?" I spoke groggily into the receiver.

"Hey. It's me."

"I know."

It hadn't even occurred to me what I was going to say to my _dad_. I immediately wished I'd hit more than my knee against the table. Maybe if I went and hit my head repeatedly on an anvil I'd go into a coma and I wouldn't remember anything when I woke up. At least then I wouldn't have to explain what had happened to anyone.

"Hey, Sweetheart, how's everything going over there?"

"Um…" I looked around the living room. The TV was exploding with gunfire while men in covered in dirt and grime were running around shooting at a giant metal robot. There were a few lamps lit, and there was still a certain person missing.

It struck me that I should hurry up and say something. I should lie and tell him that we were all right. It was better than the alternative.

_Oh, yeah, Dad. It's great. By the way, I lost your only son and youngest child. Oh, no! No worries! He'll be fine! Just ran off with a friend of his… _

See, that's what text messaging is for.

"Maia? Are you there?"

"What? Oh. Uh-huh." I felt behind a couch pillow for the remote and flipped the television off.

"Well, listen. Things are going really good down here. If it keeps going like this, I might be a few extra days. Are you guys gonna be okay?"

"Yeah! Of course" I told him with fake enthusiasm.

"Perfect!" I could hear the excitement in his voice and felt the weight in my stomach grow heavier. "Are you sure this won't be too much? I can come home if you need me to. I know Leo can be a handful."

_He has no idea_, I thought. But I assured him we'd be fine.

Just as my dad was about to say goodbye I stopped him.

"Dad…wait." I couldn't say anything about Leo, but there was always the other pressing issue. My sanity. "If…if I was going crazy, and started seeing things that weren't really there, what would you do?"

My dad laughed loudly, and I imagined him standing in fancy elevator, people giving him strange looks as he talked with his daughter. Of course, as far as _I_ knew, everyone was packed tight and they'd heard what I asked. They'd say how cute I sounded and ask him how old I was and when he told them ("Sixteen!") they'd raise their eyebrows and whisper to each other. "There goes the man with the crazy daughter," they'd chuckle as he passed by.

When he finally recovered, he chided happily, "Maia, Maia, Maia. You are _just_ like your mother."

I frowned, correcting my mental image. "What a poor, poor fellow! That man has a wife _and _daughter in the loony bin!"

"What do you mean?"

"She was a writer, you know. Always coming up with stories like that."

"Oh."

"I'd better go, there's another meeting in five. Tell Leo 'hi' for me?"

"Yeah, Dad, okay."

"Love you."

"Lo—" My voice cracked. "Love you too."

I slammed the phone shut and cradled my juice carton in my arms once again. It was warm and sticky from sleeping on it. I had to force myself to look away from the hard wooden top of the table. A pretty black and blue bruise to the head looked appealing.

* * *

**A/N: I'm definitly having mixed feelings about this chapter. **

**Please review! I can't promise it will make me update faster but it will give me the fuzzy, happy feelings only reviews can bring!**


End file.
